Welcome to Night Vale, Winchesters
by Sherlocked Gallifreyan
Summary: The brothers' search for Castiel takes them to a strange little town in the desert. Rated just to be safe. Minor Destiel and Cecilos toward the end.


A/N. So I started this in math today. I should dedicate all my attention to math, but math is boring. Especially when I have things to write. Actually, math is boring regardless. But please, read and review. Yours truly, Sherlocked Gallifreyan.

* * *

"Listeners, there have been reports of a large, unfamiliar black car prowling the streets of Night Vale." There were the soft clicks of a door being opened and then closed, followed by a shuffling of paper. "Julia, one of our studio interns, has brought a piece of paper." Carlos chuckled and pulled his blanket closer against the desert night. "The car is a 1967 Chevy Impala with Kansas plates. The driver is said to be about six feet tall, and his companion is even taller. The companion has beautiful hair." Sam blushed, and ran his fingers through his hair. Unseen by Sam, Dean smirked at his brother's embarrassment. "Although not as perfect as _Carlos_." Carlos was caught off guard by the burning passion in Cecil's voice as he purred Carlos's name. "Night Vale, who are these strangers with their large black car? And what do they want?"

Cecil wrapped a tentacle around his refilled mug of coffee and brought it to his smiling lips. There was a sudden knock at the door, and he frowned in confusion. Staff members and interns knocked to announce their presence, and then entered. Only visitors knocked and waited. So he set the mug back down, crossed the room, and opened the door. It was the strangers! The "short" one, still tall for being short, seemed to be scanning the walls with something that looked suspiciously like an old, battered, refitted Walkman. He paused his strange actions as Cecil opened the door and said, "Hello?"

* * *

"This looks like the place," Dean said, pulling the Impala into an empty parking space and shutting off the engine.

"You sure?" Sam asked, skepticism sneaking into his voice.

"That guy said to look for Night Vale Community Radio Center, and this is the only Night Vale Community Radio Center I have seen," Dean said, fondly trailing his hand down the front fender as they approached the main door.

The doors hissed easily open, greeting the Winchesters with a burst of cold air, a welcome change from the oppressive desert heat. The lobby was small, but tastefully decorated. Several leather arm chairs surrounded a dark coffee table. The walls were painted an odd, light lavender-like color. The carpet was the typical industrial-strength carpet found in business places. A recently refilled water cooler stood with its paper cups on a table in the near right corner. The coffee maker and its Styrofoam cups stood in the near left corner, on a table identical to the water cooler table. There were two doors on either side of a desk. The desk was set into a well-lit and large nook in the wall. At the desk sat a rather dumpy, brown-haired woman.

"We're looking for a Cecil…" Dean glanced at the well-folded piece of paper he pulled from his pocket and looked at the name scribbled there. "…Baldwin."

"Right door," the dumpy woman said in a flat, high-pitched, nasally voice. "Not the left door. The right door. Second floor, one of two doors. Do not knock on the door marked "Station Management". Knock on the only other door." The brothers exchanged baffled glances but went through the right door (not the left door, mind you), down to the end of the oddly-lit hall, and up the twisting, uneven stairs. The stairs looked uneven but were perfectly level in reality.

The stairs deposited them on the second floor. Dean shuddered, and Sam glanced uneasily around. Dean pulled his Walkman-EMF detector from somewhere. Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean began scanning the walls. The detector was going wild, but the sounds it was making were not the sounds it usually made. They sounded almost like… screaming. Tortured screaming. The sound became more and more scream-like as they approached the door marked "Station Management". Subconsciously, they moved to the other side of the narrow hall, pressing against the other wall. They saw the only other door, but walked past it in the interest of seeing where the other staircase led. It led nowhere. The stairwell seemed to continue forever, but the stairs themselves faded into oblivion. The brothers walked back to the only other door. Dean scanned the door before Sam knocked on it. The scanner made a noise more like its usual sound as Dean scanned the walls.

He looked up, however, as the door opened and a voice said, "Hello?" Dean looked up and was genuinely shocked by what he saw. The man standing before him was on the shorter side, shorter than Cas but taller than Gabriel, and very thin. Not unhealthily so, but this thinness made him look taller. He leaned against the doorframe, four arms crossed over his chest. Three eyes studied Dean and Sam from a handsome, narrow, pale-skinned face. Two of the eyes were blue, and the third was currently shifting between blue and a strange auburn color. The man wore black-framed glasses. His hair was a little long and almost white. As Dean stared, the man reached a shadowy tentacle from his back and grabbed the cup of coffee from his desk. What caught his attention was the tattoos. They shifted and pulsed with a life of their own, the peculiar eyes tattooed on the backs of his hands seeming to stare right at Dean. He wore a purple, chevron-patterned sweater vest over a white button-up shirt. The top button was unbuttoned, and his sloppily-tied tie reminded Dean painfully of Cas (and Dean's heart twisted at the thought of his lost angel). The sleeves were rolled back. He wore dark pants of indeterminate fabric (and color) and wore blue Converse that clashed with his outfit and yet somehow worked.

"Hello?" the man repeated, and Dean realized that he had been staring for longer than was polite.

"We're looking for a Cecil Baldwin," Sam said, as puzzled by the man's odd appearance as Dean.

"You've found him," Cecil said, pushing his glasses back into place. Stupid glasses, always slipping down. The third eye shifted to a wary green. "Can I help you?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other. "Honestly, we didn't really expect to find you," Sam admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Carlos chose that moment to come careening down the hall, skidding to a clumsy stop and nearly falling over. "Cecil!" he blurted, panting too heavily to continue, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

"Did you run all the way over here?" Cecil asked. Carlos nodded breathlessly.

"Who are you?" Sam asked Carlos. As Carlos stood upright, having reasonably caught his breath, he stared at the man who spoke. And Sam stared back. Dean and Cecil glanced between the two, who looked alarmingly similar.

"I'm Carlos," Carlos said. He stared at Sam. Although lighter-skinned and younger, Sam could have been Carlos's brother.

Dean pointed the Walkman-EMF detector at Carlos, then at Sam. It responded with the same whine it had always given.

All four heads turned as the door marked "Station Management" creaked open. Dean pulled his pistol from the waistband of his pants and aimed at the … thing… emerging from the dark room. The thing hissed and growled and gurgled before retreating back into the darkness.

"Is there a diner or something where we can talk?" Dean asked.

"There's Big Rico's," Carlos offered.

"Where we won't be watched," Dean added. Both Carlos and Cecil shook their heads.

"Anywhere in town, we're being watched," Carlos said softly.

"Road trip!" Cecil sang out of the blue, his tattoos writhing with a sudden increase of life, his third eye shifting to an excited gold. He closed and locked the studio door, grabbing Carlos by the hand as he ran down the hall toward the working stairs. It took Sam and Dean a little to catch up with the sudden change in personality as well as the sudden departure.

* * *

Cecil gawked openly at the beautiful Impala, wanting to touch the car (run his hands all over it), but afraid of what might happen if he angered Dean. Carlos found the car pleasant to look at, but he didn't find the same attraction the Cecil and Dean found in the car.

"She's beautiful," Cecil murmured reverently to Dean.

"Ain't she, though?" Dean agreed as he unlocked the car. He drove out of the lot, Sam riding shotgun, Cecil and Carlos in the back seat. He drove far into the desert, leaving the lights of Night Vale behind.

"We're safe to talk here," Cecil said suddenly. Dean stopped the car and silenced the engine. The four disembarked and gathered in front of the Impala.

Dean didn't know how to start, so he said, "Tan coat. There's a man in a tan trench coat. He's a little shorter than me, kinda socially clueless."

"There's a man in a tan coat," Carlos said slowly, "but no one can remember what he looks like or where they saw him." Quiet footsteps underlined his words.

"Hello, Dean," a dear, familiar voice said. Dean spun around, not sure if he should hug the wayward angel or hit him or do nothing and treat this like one of the all-too-familiar hallucinations he'd been having.

"Cas!" Sam said. "You're alive!" And Dean knew, in that moment, that Cas really was there. Abandoning all dignity, he crossed the short distance between himself and Castiel and wrapped his arms tight around the angel. Cas returned the gesture, happier to see Dean than words could ever express. Cecil and Carlos, hand in hand, watched in quiet fascination. They could remember the man in the tan coat now.

Dean broke the embrace but didn't move away from Castiel. His eyes shone with unshed tears. "We found him," he said in a quiet, husky voice to Sam. Turning to Carlos and Cecil, he said, "Thank you. Thank you so very much."

"We didn't do anything!" Carlos protested. Cecil simply nodded, knowing exactly what Dean meant. He wasn't quite sure how he knew. But he knew.

Sam leaned against the Impala, watching fondly. Dean pulled Cas close, and Cas rested his head on Dean's shoulder. Carlos, shivering slightly, moved closer to Cecil, who smiled softly.

Overhead, the strange lights danced and sparkled and whirled. Everything was right in the universe again. _Good night, Night Vale, _Cecil thought fondly, _Good night._

* * *

A/N. Well, I'm not quite sure what happened in there. There are some parts I might fix for the sake of the flow of the story. Some of the parts are a little awkwardly worded. Cecil's appearance is based on several pieces of fan art as well as my own headcanon concerning his appearance. The thing about Sam and Carlos looking like they could be related is a thing from Tumblr. That actually sparked what you just read. Well, please tell me what you think.


End file.
